He looked at me.
—I’m going to take it with me.
—Take it away.
He seemed surprised.
—Aren’t you going to say it’s yours too?
—It’s a picture of your dad. I would never stop you from keeping it.
Andrés lowered his eyes.
For a few seconds he looked like the man I had married again.
“He really planned to leave me everything,” she murmured.
-Yeah.
—Until you came along.
I shook my head.
—Until a version of you appeared that your father didn’t recognize.
—You turned him against me.
—No, Andrés. Your father heard you waiting for his death. Then he spent months watching you. You could have visited him. You could have asked him about his treatments. You could have sat with him without mentioning the will even once.
He pressed the photograph to his chest.
He didn’t answer.
He crossed the gate with his last suitcase.
The locks were changed.
When his car disappeared down the road, I went in alone.
I didn’t feel triumphant.
I felt silence.
Don Alejandro’s favorite mug was still stored in the kitchen. On a shelf, I found the chess pieces he used to play with Mateo.
I sat down and cried for the first time since the funeral.
Not for the money.
Not because of the company.
Because of the man who had built all that hoping to one day bequeath it to his son, and who ended up having to protect it from him.
A week later I accepted the position of CEO of the company.
In my first meeting I said only one thing:
“There will be no purges or revenge here. Whoever does their job well will stay. Anything wrong will be corrected.”
We retained important clients, renegotiated risky contracts, and regained the trust of suppliers.
I worked more than before, but I established a rule that I never allowed the company to break: several nights each week belonged exclusively to Daniela and Mateo.
Andrés, for his part, got a job as a sales director at a smaller company.
For the first time in many years, he had a boss who wasn’t his father.
I could no longer approve something because it bore the owner’s last name.
He had to show results.
And, strangely enough, that began to change him.
As the months passed, he began to see the children more often.
Mateo went back to the park with him.
Daniela took longer to forgive him, but eventually agreed to go out to eat with her father.
I never used my children to punish him.
He had lost enough because of his own decisions.
Almost a year later, Andrés returned to our company as a representative of his new job.
He had a business proposal.
They asked for identification at the entrance.
I was told later that he remained motionless for a few seconds.
For years the guards would open the gate as soon as they recognized his truck.
Now he came in like any other supplier.
We met accidentally in the hallway.
—Hello, Elena.
-Hello.
He looked at the plaque on my office.
General Director.
—So you finally agreed.
-Yeah.
—How’s everything going?
-Good.
He remained silent.
—My dad would be proud.
Those words surprised me.
-I hope so.
He took two steps, but returned.
—Elena.
-Yeah?
—I thought everything belonged to me simply because one day I was going to inherit it.
I didn’t answer.
—The company, the house, even you all. I thought I could do whatever I wanted and then come back when it suited me.
—That was your mistake.
He nodded.
—It took me a long time to understand it.
—But you understood.
—Too late for us.
-Yeah.
There was no need to lie.
Our marriage was over.
But not his life.
A year after Don Alejandro’s death, we went to the cemetery with the children.
Andrés was already standing in front of the tomb.
Nobody argued.
Daniela arranged some flowers.
Mateo wiped a small part of the tombstone with his hand.
Andrés stayed a few more minutes and then left alone.
That night I took the children to the country house.
Mateo found his grandfather’s old chessboard.
—Mom, shall we play?
-Clear.
We sat facing each other.
Daniela appeared with hot chocolate and started making fun of us because none of us wanted to lose.
On the wall was a photograph of Don Alejandro in front of that first store.
I looked around.
The company continued operating.
My children preserved what their grandfather had wanted to protect for them.
Andrés no longer had an inheritance to wait for or a surname to hide behind, but he had a job, he could see his children, and he still had the opportunity to become a better person.
Then I understood that that had been the true consequence of everything.
Don Alejandro had not left his son without a future.
He had simply stopped giving her one.
Mateo moved his first pawn.
—Your turn, Mom.
I smiled and moved mine.
For years Andrés believed that life consisted of waiting for what others were going to give him.
In the end, we all learned something much more important:
The only thing that truly ends up belonging to us is the life we build with our own decisions.
